Reasons Not to Die
by SmellyThePirate
Summary: Claire struggles to navigate life after the events in the island. Set after Fallen Kingdom. Claire/Owen.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Set right after Fallen Kingdom. I forgot Owen lived in a van, so let's just roll with things here. Will be a dark story with heavy suicidal themes. Claire first person POV. Clawen, of course. Enjoy and give me feedback, if possible. Onwards!

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 **Reasons Not to Die**

Chapter I

When I looked down at my phone, I had hundreds of notifications. Literally. My emails and social media notifications were through the roof in and of themselves, but then I noticed I had tons of missed calls. I pressed the call log button and saw that I had missed calls from random numbers, some with no caller ID, a couple of friends, and some from my sister, Karen. This surprised me; Karen and I hadn't been close since after the park incident three years ago and the times we'd talked, things hadn't been the best between us.

Next to me, Owen mumbled something. I looked up at the long stretch of road ahead of me and then at him. "Huh?"

"I said we need gas," he repeated. "I think there's a gas station a couple of miles ahead."

I didn't respond and looked down at my phone again. My stomach turned uneasily as I stared at the many missed calls I had from my sister. I could only guess why she called, but why bother? We hadn't been in the best of terms for a while now; I couldn't imagine she'd care about anything right now.

Right on cue, as if he could read my mind, Owen reached for my hand and slipped his fingers through mine. Our hands rested on my left thigh, the un-injured one. My heart did a dance, and I looked up at him again. His eyes were on the road, but he turned his head to me when he saw me looking.

How did he know when I was uneasy? How did he know exactly when I needed someone? I gave his hand a squeeze, but he didn't move it until we reached the gas station.

He got out of the car and made his way inside the convenience store. Immediately, I dialed my sister's phone number and waited. She picked up right away. "Holy crap, Claire?"

I hesitated for a moment: "Y-yeah. Karen. Yeah. It's me."

She let out a sigh of relief, or at least that's what it sounded like on my end. "Oh, Claire, oh, God," she breathed. "I can't believe I'm hearing from you. Are you okay? I thought you were dead."

"I'm fine," I said, but even I wasn't convinced with my half-assed lie. "I'm okay." I paused. "I'm sorry for not returning your call sooner. I just now had a moment." I was lying through my damn teeth. Owen and I had been driving through the states, having dropped Maisie off in Salt Lake City, where Iris, her caretaker, had gone to be with some of her family. We'd been driving nonstop back from Utah to California, stopping along the way for food, gas, and the occasional motel. We were finally back in California. Owen would've preferred to sleep in his car and not have to spend money on hotels, and I didn't have the energy to argue. But he saw my thigh and the bandage wrapped around it, and he insisted I had to give it more legroom than the passenger side of his car offered. Like I said, I had no energy to argue back and forth.

"I've been so worried," Karen said. "The boys have been so worried about you, too."

I didn't even know what to say. "I'm so sorry, Karen." I guessed I was sorry. Kind of. What was I sorry for? I didn't know; I just was. "It's been a tough few days."

"Listen, Claire…" She trailed off. My stomach did a flip-flop. In that exact moment, Owen exited the store and walked back to the car. He noticed me on the phone, but didn't really say anything. "I know we haven't been on the best terms lately…"

 _I'll say,_ I thought.

"I mean, we hardly talk and… I've been angry at you for being so careless with the boys when you worked at the park…" Ah, the uplifting conversation I needed. I didn't know how many times I apologized to her after the incident. I would have gotten on my knees to beg for forgiveness, and I don't beg. I would have died saving my nephews, but I guess she didn't think I was capable of such strong an emotion. "But… you need to stop with this dinosaur business."

"What do you mean?" Of all the things I expected to come out of her mouth, that wasn't it.

"I mean, you're bringing all this destruction on yourself, Claire," she said. "I'm happy to know you're alive and all, but you won't last long if you don't just stop with this dinosaur nonsense. It's killing you. And if you don't stop with it, you're going to get yourself killed."

"I'm here, aren't I?" was the only thing I thought to say.

"Yeah, for now. I know it's not an easy to pill to swallow. But you're my sister, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

A dull throb began both in my head and on my thigh. Maybe I was imagining the thigh one, but I suddenly needed a Tylenol. "Okay," I said. "I have to go."

"Don't, Claire."

"Don't _what_ , Karen?" I sounded a lot snappier than I intended.

"Don't push me away like this. You know I'm right. If you weren't involved with this dinosaur business, you, Grey and Zach's lives wouldn't have been in danger."

"Are you calling me just to remind me that I'm a terrible aunt? Or do you care that I'm even alive after everything I just went through?"

"Stop it. You know that's not what I meant."

I heard Owen close the little fuel door close and I quickly said, "I have to go," and hung up. When Owen got inside the car, it was like he immediately knew something was up. He turned the keys in the ignition and looked over at me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

"Claire?"

"Hmm."

He didn't say anything until I turned to face him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Fine. Everything's fine." Except my headache was getting worse, and now I really needed a Tylenol. My thigh pulsed with a dull throb, and I threw my head back against the headrest.

"Who called you?" he asked.

"Oh." _Should I lie, or tell him the truth?_ He'd know if I wasn't being honest. He could always see right through me. "That was just my sister."

"Your sister called you?"

"Yeah. She was happy to hear from me. Thought I was dead."

"Uh, okay."

We pulled out back into the road, onto another lonely stretch of highway. I reached for my purse and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. I briefly skimmed the back of the bottle and took two tablets. I asked Owen how long we had left, and he said we had about two hours till we reached our destination.

"Want me to drive?" I asked, though I didn't really want to.

"Not after you've taken _that_." He pointed to the Tylenol.

"Oh. Right."

"It's fine, Claire. I don't mind driving. I like it."

We eventually reached my place first. It was finally dark out. I got out of the car, noticing he wasn't budging. I tapped on the passenger window and he rolled it down. "You gonna get out?"

"Should I?"

I opened my mouth and closed it. I didn't know how to answer that question without sounding like a fool, at best.

"Well, where're you going?" I asked.

"Uhh… home?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Home?" I asked.

"You know, the place I live. My home. _Mi casa_." He smirked.

I glanced back at my house. It suddenly seemed so big and lonely. I turned back to Owen and said, "Can I stay with you?"

He raised both eyebrows but didn't skip a beat. "Sure. You're welcome to crash."

"Ten minutes," I assured him. "I'll be right back."

I barely gave him time to answer as I turned back and went inside my house. I asked myself what the hell I was doing, asking Owen if I could stay with him at his place. We weren't teenage high school girls planning a damn sleepover. But as I replayed the last few days in my mind, I realized we needed to talk. My heart pounded, and the sound of blood rushed through my ears as I thought about this. I was on autopilot as I looked for a duffel bag and found clothes and toiletries to stuff inside it.

My mind went back to a few days ago. We were being chased mercilessly by dinosaurs, and I almost lost him a few times. The fact that he was even there, back in the island, was all my fault. All because I was an idiot who fell for a liar under the guise of helping animals live peacefully. He could have died because of me. He could have died because I wanted to guilt trip him into coming and helping me out.

My eyes watered at the thought of it. When I reached my living room, I opened the curtain just a tiny bit and looked at his car parked in my driveway. He was jamming out to a song, singing passionately along. I felt the familiar tickle of butterflies in my stomach as I watched him be silly. A smile crept up my face. This was the man I almost lost because of my foolishness, because I dragged him into something he didn't need to be dragged into. I didn't deserve him.

I stepped outside the house, making sure to lock everything. Owen turned the volume down as I soon as I got into the car. He threw the car in park and said, "Ready?"

I nodded. As he drove, I looked at him. I knew he saw me, but he didn't return the glare. I studied his features, the scruff on his face, the once bloodied scratches in the process of healing. I felt another wave of guilt hit me, knowing it was all because of me.

"Do I have something on my face?" Owen asked suddenly.

"What? No… I—"

He smiled and looked right at me. "Just can't keep your eyes off me then, huh?"

"Stop flattering yourself," I joked.

"You're already doing it for me." We exchanged a smile.

We finally reached his house, out in the mountainside. It was quiet. I could never envision myself living somewhere like this, but the calm and quiet was more than welcomed. I stepped inside the front door after he opened the door. The space was small, but cozy. He decorated the place nicely and kept it tidy. I set the bag down right by my feet.

"I don't have a guest room," Owen said, "but you can take my room, and I'll just sleep on my couch."

"Owen—"

"Or you could take the couch. Doesn't matter to me."

"No, Owen, I…" I expected him to interrupt me, as if he knew what I was about to say and was trying to stop me from saying it. But he didn't, and I almost felt silly bringing it up. I pushed on anyway. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to… sleep on your bed."

"Sure. I'll take the couch."

I shook my head. "No."

"Come on, Claire, make up your—"

"With you," I interrupted. I needed to say it before I freaked out and kept my mouth shut. A warm sensation took over me from the top of my body right down to my toes. "I want to sleep on your bed with you." There was a pause. I started twisting my hands together nervously. "I need you with me tonight. Please."

"Well, it's not every day a beautiful lady asks me to sleep with her," Owen joked. "Why not?"

I knew jokes were his way of lightening up the general mood, but I wanted him to be serious. I couldn't read him like he could read me, but all I felt was guilt. When I looked at him, I saw him being chased by dinosaurs. Risking his life underwater to break me out of the gyrosphere. He could have left me to drown. He could have been in his house, building stuff like he loved to do, jamming out to love songs and 80s music all day long. Instead, he was saving my ass.

I waited for him to take a shower first, and afterward, I went in. I had to be careful with the gash on my thigh, which made showering much harder than it needed to be. I had to switch the bandage afterward. Looking at the gash made me cringe; it brought tears to my eyes, as I replayed the events in my head over and over. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was surprised to know that I looked terrible. I had dark circles under my eyes, and I looked like I hadn't slept in over a week. Sleep was starting to creep up on me, but I needed to fight it.

I slipped into my pajamas, and when I went inside Owen's room, he was already in his bed, all lights off. His back was facing me, and I couldn't tell if he was awake or not. I gently slipped into the bed next to him, but he didn't stir. Could he have fallen asleep so quickly?

Being mindful of my thigh, I slipped in as close as I could to him. I poked his shoulder.

"Owen," I whispered, "are you awake?"

"No," he whispered back without turning. "I'm sleeping."

I took that as a _don't-disturb-me-I'm-trying-to-sleep_ sign. I mentally kicked myself. I should have just told him to wait till I was done in the shower so we could talk. But then, to my surprise, he turned around to face me. The shadows from behind the curtains were cast in his face, but I could still see his emerald eyes.

"Hi," I said stupidly.

He half-smiled. "Hi."

He seemed to take pride, or pleasure, or both maybe, in the fact that he could get me to stutter like an idiot. He caught me off-guard, since I hadn't expected him to turn around and look at me like that. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through his hair. I wanted to lean in and kiss him. But first, I wanted to talk—or see if he was even up to talk.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

"That's what we're doing, isn't it?"

I sighed, almost feeling defeated.

"Alright," he said, actually sounding serious, "let's talk."

I took a deep breath. "What's up with us?"

"I don't know. What _is_ up with us?"

"Owen, I…" It was like words started to fail me. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn't string them into a coherent thought. He was looking right at me, expectantly, and in that moment, I knew that he knew what I was going to say. I had to take a moment to let my brain think. His eyes bore into me in the midst of my silence. He watched me intently, yet patiently. "I need you."

He waited for me to go on, but I really wished he'd chime in. He was quite the expert at times at interrupting conversations and putting in his two cents. But he was quiet, waiting for me to finish.

"I love you," I said, and it was as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders. "These past few days have been hell, and I didn't want to be at home alone. I'll be left alone with my thoughts, and that's not what I need right now." When he still didn't say anything, I went on: "I've been thinking. You didn't have to come. I basically forced you to go and look at how everything turned out. You saved my ass more times than I can count, knowing damn well you could have died, too, and I…" A familiar tingle went through my nose, and my eyes instantly watered. I didn't know why the hell I was so damn emotional, but I needed him to say something. "I'm so grateful, despite everything I put you through." I searched for his hand under the covers and interlocked my fingers with his. His hand was warm and pulsating with precious life. I didn't let go.

"You didn't force me to do anything," he finally said. "I went willingly."

I shook my head, but he continued.

"I almost lost you the first time. I couldn't lose you, Claire. Not again." He pulled away from my hand and ran his fingers through my hair. He pushed my bangs to the side and caressed my face. "I don't want to imagine what would've happened if I hadn't been there to protect you."

"I should have died on that island," I said, though I wasn't sure what compelled me to say it out loud.

"Don't say that!" he chastised me.

"I shouldn't have lived. I should've been smart enough to know that—"

"Stop it, Claire!" Owen interrupted me. "Just stop it!"

I was surprised when I saw that he too had tears in his eyes. I'd never seen him cry, or even so much as seen his eyes water. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had no idea what to say. I felt even guiltier that he was like this because of me.

"I love you," he said. "You have no idea how much I love you, but I do. You don't know how much it tears me apart to hear you say these things about yourself. I can't sleep sometimes thinking about what might've happened to you on that island if I hadn't been there. Wondering if today would be the last time I see you. You don't know how much I…" His voice actually cracked a little, and my heart skipped a beat too many. "How much I need you."

Still being mindful of my thigh, I inched closer to him until I could rest my head into his neck. His left arm went around me, and I searched for his free hand, once again interlocking my fingers with his. I heard his steady heartbeat, his subtle sniffles.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. I didn't want to hurt him anymore than I had, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I deserved to die, that I should have been dead. I turned the idea over and over in my mind and it started to sound appealing to me. I tried to push it away from my mind, and for the time being it sort of worked.

Owen was silent, but I found comfort in the quiet. Eventually, he fell asleep. When I whispered his name, he didn't answer. Instead, a soft snore filled in for him. I was tired, but I lay awake for a while. Part of me wanting to do away with myself, the other part still both guilty and filled with gratitude for Owen. In the end, his steady heartbeat lulled me to sleep.

In the morning, I awoke alone. I looked around me and saw that Owen wasn't there. His side was cold, but it smelled like him, which I gladly took in. I assumed he was outside building his cabin, so I went to the bathroom and took a shower. But when I left the room, he was nowhere to be found. I checked the only other room in his house, which was his office, and he wasn't there either. He wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, and his car was gone from the driveway.

I looked at the cable box in the living room and the time read 10:30. Figuring he was out running errands (trying to push the thought of calling him away, so as to not seem clingy), I began looking through his stuff. I shouldn't have; I didn't exactly pop into people's homes and looked through their stuff like a nosy child, but there was something that drew me to Owen's belongings. His nonchalant way of being, the way he simply smiled when I was aggravated (making me even angrier), and even his ability to create things with his hands—it all made him so fascinating.

I looked through what I could, knowing I _really_ should have stopped invading his privacy, but unable to. I came across a linen closet outside of his office room that had boxes on all the shelves, each labeled. In particular, one labeled "High School" caught my attention. I pulled the box out and received a face full of dust in return. I coughed, fanning the dust off me as best as I could. The box wasn't very heavy, so I set it on the floor and knelt down before it.

A thick layer of dust covered the first thing inside the box, which I came to find out was a yearbook. I opened it, welcoming even more dust. I skimmed through the yearbook pages, probably going fast enough because I couldn't find him in the few times I went over the book. Tucked inside the very last page of the book were yellowed pieces of paper, old and fragile. I carefully picked it up and flipped it open.

 _Jessica, I think you're cute and I really like you. Will you go to prom w/ me? (check yes or no)_. Underneath the sloppy young boy handwriting were two checkboxes next to the yes and the no. The yes was filled by a checkmark and underneath it read: _Owen, I like you, too. You're the funniest boy in our class. I think it's great you like science. I love science class, too, it's my favorite. History is my least favorite. I don't care about what happened in the past, I only want to look to the future. I think science will make some great discoveries, don't you? P.S. I'd love to go to prom with you._

I had to stop. The middle school writing level was cringey, at best. The way this Jessica dotted her I's with hearts was painful. I didn't know why I was feeling a pang of jealousy; this was Lord-knows how long ago, and he probably didn't even remember her.

 _Not likely_ , I thought to myself. _He has his notes from her saved in a yearbook. Why wouldn't he remember?_

I put the note back inside the book before I started thinking something stupider. I put the box back where it was, but the second I pulled another one labeled "Important" off the shelf, I heard Owen's car pull into the driveway.

I scrambled to put it back, but he was clearly faster than I was. I'd just managed to put it back and slam the closet door shut by the time he stepped inside. I stepped out of the hallway, past his room, and right back into the living room. He'd know I was up to something. But when he saw me standing there, probably looking guilty as all hell, he only raised his arm, holding a white bag by its handle.

"Got us some breakfast, Sleeping Beauty." If he suspected anything, he didn't show it.

I hadn't realized I was starving. "Thank you," I said.

"I thought you might want some food. Unless, of course, you don't." He shrugged. "Don't mind having some extra."

He set the bag down at the dining table. I followed, feeling timid all of a sudden. I felt like he could tell I was just rummaging through his stuff and was about to call me out on it. But instead, he brought some sodas to the table, opened the bag and handed me a plastic container with a see-through lid. Sunny side-up eggs and with two pieces of toast and hashbrowns. He, on the other hand, had a burger.

He caught me staring. "What? You wanna trade?"

"No," I said. "No. Just don't know of anyone who has burgers for breakfast."

"That's the magic of Denny's. You can have anything you want at any time of the day. Crazy stuff."

Despite his sarcasm, I smiled to myself. We ate in silence, until he said, "Were you looking through my stuff?"

I stopped mid-chew and looked at him. If my wide, bug-eyed look didn't give me away, I didn't know what would. He smirked, a triumphant and silent way of acknowledging my inadvertent confession. "I'll take that as a yes."

"How would you even kn—"

"Come on," he waved his hands, including the one holding the burger, "you didn't come out from the room when I got back. You also didn't _just_ wake up. So tell me. What were you looking for?" He smiled. "You didn't find My Little Pony collection, did you?"

"Your _little pony_ collection?"

"Yeah, I'm a brony. When I'm not building stuff, or training raptors, I play with my pony toys."

I could only stare. Sometimes I didn't know if he was being truthful or not. My jaw must've been touching the table because he laughed. Not an inward laugh or a forced one, but a loud one and for longer than a few seconds. "If you could see your face right now," he said, still laughing. "I'm kidding, you know. I don't actually collect pink ponies."

I jabbed my fork into the egg yolk, watched it bleed into my hashbrown. Owen just shook his head and continued chuckling.

"What day is it today?" I asked. With all that had happened in the last week, I was completely lost. Despite me checking my phone constantly during our car ride in and out of California, I hadn't stopped to think of the days. After a while, they all blurred into each other. It felt like it had happened months ago, but it also felt like just yesterday I'd been stabbed by an Indoraptor's claw.

"Today is Friday," Owen said. "Time flies when you're having fun, huh? And you still haven't told me what you were looking for."

I suddenly remembered I hadn't checked my phone since I hung up on my sister the day before. I stood up and went to the room, ignoring Owen's questions of where I was going. I walked right out and took a seat back at the dining table. I had about fifteen text messages from Karen, each text one notch angrier than the one before. The other text messages varied from Zia and Franklin and other employees, to bagel shops offering me generous discounts, to my phone carrier, which I deleted. I'd answer everyone back. Maybe. Except Karen. I didn't think I could answer her.

Each second of silence was accompanied by a buzz from an incoming notification. Owen was staring at me again.

"Those are a lot of notifications," he said.

"I guess," I mumbled as I did my best to keep up with the nonstop flood of emails and alerts.

"You gonna eat that?" Owen asked, pointing to my food.

I looked up at him. He wasn't even done with his burger. So typical. "You could have it." I was still hungry, having eaten about half of the food, but figured he could take it if he wanted.

He shrugged. "More for me." He didn't hesitate to pull my food towards him.

After getting through most of my notifications, I sat there, unsure of what to do next. Part of me wondered if I'd imagined my conversation last night with Owen. We were both beyond exhausted from the week. And then driving to Utah was an added physical toll on our bodies. I'd told him I loved him, and he said it back. But here we were, sitting a few feet away from each other, in a consuming silence. I didn't know if I wanted to go back home and face my thoughts all alone. I didn't know if I would be a burden, staying another day, though I'd packed enough clothes for another day or two. Just in case, like my mom had always said.

"So, when do you want me to take you home?" Owen asked, jolting me out of my thoughts.

The question felt like a blow—so much so, in fact, that I was starting to wonder if I had dreamt up yesterday's conversation. Like I didn't open up my heart and snuggled up to him and fell asleep to his heartbeat. Alive and by me.

My silence seemed to intrigue him. "I figured you might want to get back to civilization sometime soon," he said.

"We live like twenty minutes away from each other." Of all the things I could have said, that was it?

"Yeah, and you're right by the mall. I'm on some mountain. Figured you'd want to get back to where the people are."

"I—"

"You don't have to if you don't want to. Hell, you can call an Uber if you prefer for them to take you."

"Owen, stop," I said sternly. And he did. He seemed stunned, actually, that I managed to sound so aggravated. "I don't want to go home. I want to be here. With you. I just want to be with you. Why can't you understand that?" _Why are you trying to push me away?_

He took a swig of his soda—or mine, possibly; I'd barely touched mine—and took his time. His stare bore right through me, and I started to feel my hands get clammy. I didn't like being wordlessly stared at. My stomach lurched back and forth, and I had this urge to get up and run.

His voice was low now, gravelly almost. It scared me, made my heart skip a beat. "If I recall correctly," he said, " _you_ left _me_. In fact, you were pretty adamant about the fact that it wasn't the other way around."

I felt like I'd been punched right in the gut. Now I was almost certain I'd dreamt up that conversation last night. It started to feel hazy in my memory. Did I really tell him how I felt? Did I really hear him say it back?

Owen sighed, took another swig of his soda. "Look, Claire," he began. He was scouring his mind for the right words. Good, because I didn't know what to say myself. "I meant what I said last night. I know you did, too. But—" another damn swig— "I need to know where the two of us are at. I feel like I'm getting mixed signals from you sometimes."

I thought things with us were pretty clear after everything, but I guess that was one of the things that made us vastly different. I thought there was no question about things, and he needed more info. Usually, things were the other way around, but this time, I'm not sure what went wrong.

"I thought things were obvious," I said.

He chuckled. "Come on. When has something not required an algebraic equation when it comes to you?" He grinned obnoxiously.

It brought a smile and a laugh out of me, though I was trying to fight it.

"So… what do we do?"

"I say we stick together," he smiled. "You know, for survival. And stuff."

"Last time you said that, we split up."

"Then let's learn from our mistakes and not do the same thing."

Despite myself, I was smiling. There were still some more things that needed to be addressed, but this was good enough for now. When he was finally finished eating, he said, "I need to go grocery shopping. I had to throw out almost everything. Care to join me?"

"Only if it's a supermarket that has more than five shoppers in it at a time," I joked. "You know, something out in civilization?"

We headed outside to his car after I helped him clean up the dining table. He put some music on, changed a few songs until he landed on "Bohemian Rhapsody." He was passionately lip-syncing to the song, swaying his body back and forth as we got onto the road. I don't know why he had me laughing till my sides hurt. In retrospect, not very many things were funny when you really thought about it, but I guess when you loved someone, the most insignificant thing was side-splittingly hilarious.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

On Monday, I went back to work at the DPG. I had a million thoughts running through my mind as soon as I stepped into my office. I'd spent nearly all weekend with Owen at his house, for one. On Sunday, he took me back home, so I could prepare for work the next day. But being alone meant spending all my time with just my thoughts—and I was all over the place. I hadn't texted anyone back, including those asking me if I was doing okay. My sister had sent me angrier texts and had since called me, like, twice, but I ignored her. My nose had mostly been buried into social media and reading what news outlets had to say about dinosaurs being loose throughout the states. The farthest sighting was Montana, and who knew where else they'd go?

I was reading through my seemingly endless and constant stream of emails, when a loud and persistent knocking startled me. It was Zia, waving frantically. I motioned for her to come in and she nearly blasted through the door and plopped down right in front of my desk.

"I've been texting you all weekend!" she said breathlessly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said. "And sorry. It's been a rough few days. So many emails and messages..."

"You good, though? Want me to bring you a coffee?"

I was going to say no, but realized I could use some caffeine. "That would be great, Zia, thanks."

"Large iced mocha with cream and sugar?"

"Extra mocha."

"You got it." She made a dash for the door. "Be back in fifteen."

I felt a little guilty having her bring me stuff like that, but I figured I could get through the day with a little pick-me-up. Besides, she had offered, so why not? I went back to reading my emails when not too long after that, my desk phone rang.

"Don't hang up. Please."

I almost did. Should have, probably. I knew that voice anywhere; it was Karen. I had no idea how she managed to reach me, but there I was, about to give her three seconds to convince me to continue that call. Part of me wondered if Owen gave her my work number, but that was silly. She'd need Owen's number for that, and she'd have no way to get that, if not through me.

"Claire, please," she said. "I just want to talk."

"I'm really busy," I said. "I have a huge workload today."

"Just please hear me out, okay? Please? Give me five minutes. You haven't answered my calls or texts this weekend."

 _That's because you stress me the hell out._ It was a shame that we grew apart after the park incident those three years ago, but it wasn't exactly my number one cause for losing sleep, either. In many ways, Karen thought she was my mother, and sometimes seemed to look down on me for not having kids. I was never good with them, and even when my nephews were little, I had a hard time connecting with them. I tried my best throughout the years, hoping that birthday and Christmas gifts would make up for me not being a great aunt, but even then, I still felt her silent judgement. A comment here, an indirect comment there—it all just made me want to stay away. The park incident was the catalyst in our drift away from each other, a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

I understand the whole thing was my fault, but being reminded of it was not fun. It seemed like there was always an accusation of some sort whenever we did talk.

"I didn't mean to sound bitchy the other day, okay? I'm just worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine."

"Claire, you don't understand. You could have died three years ago." _Here we go. Here comes the finger pointing._ "Since you don't tell me anything, I had to look you up. Nice website for the Dinosaur Protection Group, by the way. These monsters you meddle with are deadly. I'd heard about you going to the island, and I didn't know if you would make it back."

I looked at the time on my computer screen. "You got three minutes left."

There was a moment of silence before Karen basically erupted. "This a joke to you, isn't it? Here I am, worried to death about you, wondering if you're even alive, and you don't even care. I had to move heaven and earth to find you because you couldn't be bothered for one second to answer my concerned texts!"

That was when I lost it, too. I was normally good at keeping my composure in public, more so at work where I had to maintain a level of professionalism at all times. But I couldn't control the not-so-involuntary jolt out of my chair. The chair smacked the wall behind me with a pretty hard thud. I knew some people were probably already looking my way out of curiosity and, possibly, concern. But I pressed on anyway.

"You think I think this is a _joke?_ You don't have the slightest clue what I've been through! I've been lied to, I've been betrayed, chased, hunted, stabbed! I almost died, Karen! I almost _drowned!_ You're sitting at home with your kids and your wonderfully boring and mundane life, and I'm here, dealing with situations beyond my control! If it makes you feel any better, every day I wish I had died over there! I wish I didn't have to deal with half the things I face, but we can't all be as perfect as you are!"

 _Shit!_ I immediately thought. _Shit, shit, shit!_ I had said too much. I let too much get by. I hadn't meant to take it as far as I did. I felt panic rise in my throat, and I knew I needed to hang up now.

"Claire, please—" She may have been crying at this point, but I wasn't sure. And in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Fuck you!" I screamed and hung up. Zia was right at the door now with a coffee in each hand. She walked in with a calm demeanor now, but her eyes were wide with concern.

"What happened? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," I lied. "Thank you, Zia." I had to reach for the coffee that looked darker than the other since she was standing there, frozen.

"Are you sure? Half the office just heard you scream at someone over the phone."

I sat down and took a couple of deep breaths. I had to calm myself down; my hands were shaking, and my heart felt like it was beating inside my throat. When I looked up, Zia's face of concern was still etched into her features, mouth hanging slightly open.

"I'm so sorry you had to witness that," I said, paused, took another deep breath. "It won't happen again. I swear."

Zia didn't seem to be having any of it, though. "Do you need me to call Owen?"

"Why would I need you to call Owen?"

The corners of her mouth lifted into an almost cocky-like smirk. "Come on. You and him… you know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Just thought maybe you needed him to kick someone's ass or something."

I glared at her until she got the hint, apologized, and went back to her desk to continue working. But my hands were still trembling, and my head was still reeling from the talk with my sister. I itched to call Owen. In a time like this, he was the only comfort I knew I could seek. But I didn't want to bother him with something that would be insignificant the next day, and I let it be.

Long after everyone had left, I was still sitting at my desk reading emails and reviewing paperwork. I'd never in my life received so many emails after being absent for a few days. Some people liked to write essays in their emails, too, which took up even more time for me to read and respond. My source of light was a cheap table lamp I had on my desk; the rest of the office was dark. It was bit creepy when I really thought about it. No one there, just me and my thoughts.

Which is why my soul nearly left my body when I heard a knock at my office door. I swung my hand out in surprise and knocked over my empty coffee cup that I should have thrown out hours ago. Tiny pieces of solid ice and melted ones spilled out onto the floor. When I looked up, Owen was looking at me through the door, with an amused smile on his face.

I waved him in and he stepped through, holding two bags of food.

"Wow, is it dark in here or what?"

"You scared the crap out of me," I said.

He laughed. "I wish I had that on camera, so I could send it to Fail Army."

I smiled. "You could have told me you were coming. Now I have to pick up this mess."

"Oh, leave it." He set the food down on the desk. "I'm assuming you probably haven't eaten anything, so here."

" _McDonald's_ , Owen?" I was still happy and grateful to see food; I just needed an opportunity to tease him.

"You're _welcome_ , Claire."

I plopped back down and all-but devoured one of the Big Macs in it. He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a stack of napkins. He bent down and started cleaning up the spill. I offered to help, but he waved me off. It wasn't a huge spill to begin with, and he was done in no time. _What have you done to deserve him?_ I thought. _He brings you food and cleans up a mess you made. You don't deserve any of this at all._

I was reaching for my fries when he said, "Ready?"

"Uhh… I'm not done."

"Yeah, you are," he said. "You're not staying here all night."

"I have a lot of w—"

"A lot of work," he finished. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. The thing is I Ubered here, and I don't want to spend all night in this office. So, finish your fries in the car and let's go."

"You took an Uber here? Nobody _made_ you do that."

"Yeah, but when you're stubborn as hell, someone has to drag you out of here by any means necessary." He actually snatched the bag of fries from my hand and tossed them in the bag, which he pulled out my reach. "Even if it means guilt-tripping you." He winked. "Let's go."

I wanted to stay behind and resist him, but the silence that followed as he was leaving left me uneasy. I powered everything off and followed after him in the dark, bumping into a few things on my way out. He was holding the elevator door open for me as I stepped inside.

"How'd you get into the building?"

"I'm just that good." He smiled.

"No, really?"

"Let's just say a little birdie helped me get in."

 _Zia_ , I thought. Knowing her, she probably got something in return for her service. I wouldn't put anything past her, despite her possible good intentions.

I drove home, digging my hand into the food bag occasionally to reach for the fries. Even Owen was eating some of my fries, like he hadn't downed his own on the way to meet me. I dropped him off at his house, and he asked me if I'd be staying. Though I would have liked to, I told him I'd go home and get things situated there. Getting things situated was another way of me burying myself into my thoughts and throwing myself the best pity-parties.

Once I got home, I immediately regretted not staying with Owen. But I reminded myself that I really didn't deserve him, and it was probably for the best that he got a break from me. I thought back to my conversation with Karen earlier that day. I cringed thinking about how everyone heard me. No one really expressed concern, except Zia and _she_ was out getting coffee.

 _Stop with the pity party, Claire,_ I told myself. _You're blowing this way out of proportion._ But the other half of me was in favor of them. I took a shower, turning the water all the way to the hottest setting and stood there until I could no longer physically stand there. My skin was a lovely flaming red shade after I got out.

I crawled into my bed and felt the ache of my muscles. My thigh was throbbing, but I was far too lazy to get out of bed and take anything. My mind was racing with tons of thoughts. I thought about Karen and how much she probably hated me now (thanks to my wonderful way with words). She had probably told her kids that I was a terrible aunt, as if they needed another reason to believe that. I thought about the past week and everything we'd all been through. Everything was running through my mind like scenes in a movie.

I realized that night that the nightmares were back to stay. As I drifted off into sleep, I found myself back in the gyrosphere with Franklin, after we'd fallen off the cliff. He was panicking, but I knew this had all happened to me before already. It was like I was rewatching a clip of everything I'd been through. Only this time, a Triceratops landed right on top of the sphere, and we sank farther into the water. Water was seeping inside at a faster rate now, but we were in too deep for Owen to swim down and save us.

 _We're not gonna make it,_ Franklin yelled, panic overtaking his voice entirely.

 _Yes, we are! Take a deep breath,_ I assured him.

But the moment I took a deep breath, the glass around us burst and water filled my mouth and nostrils. I woke up in a sweat, gasping for air. It was so quiet in my room. When I looked at the clock by my bed, I'd only been sleeping for two hours. I reached over for my phone and saw I had a few email and social media notifications. I had two text messages from Owen, which I wasted no time opening.

 _You still haven't told me what you were looking for the other day at my house._ I rolled my eyes. Seriously? _Anyway, I was thinking Taco Bell for lunch tomorrow? Don't worry, I won't blackmail Zia this time (kidding!)._ And in a separate text: _P.S., I love you, in case you forget._

That made my night a little better. It certainly got a giddy smile from me. I unplugged my phone and rolled over onto the other side of my bed. I wrote back, _Taco Bell sounds great. Remind me to have a talk with Zia tomorrow. P.S., I love you, too. Wish I was w/ you tonight._

Almost immediately, he was typing back a response. _Umm, go to sleep? U have work tomorrow. Also, I offered, so…_ A shrugging girl emoji followed.

 _Can't sleep_ , I wrote back.

 _Nightmares?_ he asked.

 _Maybe._

 _Do you need me to come over?_

For a nightmare? I had to stop and think about it for a moment. He was obviously willing to come, but was it worth having him drive all the way here for one thing? Although I craved him, I figured I shouldn't bother him. I didn't want him to feel like it he was obligated, or like it was his sole responsibility, to come to my rescue every time I had one little nightmare. And truthfully, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Three years ago, after the park was run down by the dinosaurs, I was having the most vivid nightmares after everything ended. This was child's play in comparison to the first time it happened. I reminded myself that I didn't deserve this kindness.

 _I'm okay_ , I lied. _Promise._

 _Ok then. Good night._

I couldn't sleep after that. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few hours, or at least until my eyes burned and I had to close them. I still couldn't sleep after that, my mind racing with a bunch of different thoughts. Finally, I decided to scour my medicine cabinet for something to help me sleep. I found some melatonin pills stashed away in the back of the shelf there, which I took. It made me sleepy after about twenty minutes, but I still couldn't sleep. I lay in bed all night, feeling myself slowly start to drift away, only to be jolted right back awake. I had no idea what to do. I legitimately felt sleepy, but was unable to sleep.

In the morning, I sucked it up and went to work. Franklin and Zia were sometimes there way before the other employees and volunteers, so they would chat. I rarely saw them talk and interact in that way, especially since Zia's personality was usually enough for Franklin to cower away, but I tried not to bother them. Today, however, I brought iced coffee for the three of us, so, like it or not, I had to butt into their conversation.

"Morning," I said, my attempt at sounding happy and bubbly actually coming off as a half-hearted mumble.

They stopped and stared at me, getting a good look at me. I must have looked terrible because they were silent for a few seconds.

"Did you sleep?" Franklin asked.

"You look like you haven't slept in _days,_ " Zia added.

"And a good morning to you, too," I said sarcastically. I handed them their coffees and sat down next to them. They mumbled their thanks.

"Any updates?" I asked.

Zia sighed. "Nothing too out of the ordinary. You have a couple of messages, meetings requests—the usual." She shrugged. "Oh, and I don't know if you heard, but a dinosaur completely obliterated half a neighborhood in Montana, so there's that."

I groaned. "Wonderful."

The day went on rather uneventfully. I was answering calls, setting up appointments and meetings, and texting Owen in the midst of it at all. He stayed true to his word and came by lunch time with Taco Bell. Zia and Franklin were looking at us through my office door, both actually giggling like school girls. Owen saw me looking and laughed.

"Looks like we have a fanbase," he said.

He sat down next to me and pulled out the food from the bag. He handed me two chicken chalupas. Having skipped breakfast, I took a humungous bite of the taco.

"You look like you need some sleep," Owen pointed out.

"Does anyone have anything nice to say about my face today?" I said, a mouthful of taco making me sound funny.

"Sure. I like your face," Owen said. "But it's better when it looks rested."

"So… I look like a trainwreck then. Basically."

"I wouldn't say _trainwreck,_ necessarily. More like…"  
"Like…?"

"Like a plane crash. Maybe." He smirked.

"Thank you, Owen."

We both laughed at the ridiculous joke, but I could tell there was some real concern in him. He kept stealing glances over at me every few seconds. I pretended that I didn't notice and just kept my eyes down. I was about to say something when Owen said, "For real, though. Are you sleeping okay?"

I felt like I'd been caught, even though there was nothing exactly to hide. "Sure," I said, the big, fat lie leaving my lips easily. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Are you still having nightmares?"

I scoffed. "Owen, it was a pretty traumatizing thing we all went through. Who wouldn't have nightmares here and then?"

He grew quiet for a moment, seemingly turning that thought over and over in his head. "It's okay to not be okay, Claire," he finally said. For a second, I felt a chill go down my spine. He was looking right at me, but also right through me. He always seemed to know what I was thinking. I felt exposed, naked. Like no matter how many times I tried to convince him of something, he just knew there was something more.

Still, he had his own issues and his own life stuff to worry about. I couldn't live with myself if I knew my burdens became his burdens, too. So I put on a smile and said, "Really, Owen, I'm fine. You have nothing to worry about. Last night was a little rough, but who doesn't have that every once in a while?"

He didn't look convinced at all. He sighed. "I just worry, that's all."

"Well, don't. I'm a big girl who can handle things."

He still didn't look like he was buying it. To try to rest my case, I took his hand in mine and patted it. It was the first time I stopped and noticed how big his hand was in comparison to mine. How rough and almost calloused-like it felt. The gesture was supposed to be reassuring, but I wasn't very convincing at it, obviously, and he looked unmoved by it. I hated that he could see right through my bullshit sometimes.

"I promise you have nothing to worry about," I said. _Liar,_ I told myself. _Freakin' liar. This is why you don't deserve him. All you do is lie._

"I'll hold you to that promise."

I pulled away. "You have my word."

He left shortly after that. Zia and Franklin were still chatting away like little school girls, giggling and stealing glances over my way, as if I didn't know what they could possibly be talking about.

Every day, I was losing the battle called life. Despite my promise to Owen, I wasn't doing great. At all. I didn't know how to reach out, and I was scared that I'd put too much on his plate when he was already dealing with his own battles if I talked to him. At night, I couldn't sleep. Whenever I did sleep, it would be for two or three hours at a time. I wasn't eating well, or much, really. In the mornings, I couldn't be bothered to make myself anything to eat, so unless Owen (or someone else) brought me food, I didn't eat much. At home, I'd sometimes make frozen dinners, or I'd eat half a box of Cheez-Its; it depended on my mood.

My energy was declining slowly but surely. I lounged around my bed whenever I was home, sometimes finding the simplest task the most challenging. I hadn't seen Owen much outside of work in the past week, and I felt so guilty about that. I knew he busy, so it probably wasn't too huge a deal for him. But I still felt terrible.

The nightmares were back almost every time I managed to catch a snooze. I continued to dream that I was dying, too far away from Owen's reach. Sometimes I watched him die in front of me. I knew the melatonin was helping me have those vivid nightmares on some occasions, but even that didn't stop me from taking them often. It felt like I was always waking up in a sweat. At work, most people noticed something different about me. I tried to act like I always did, but some people were concerned. Zia kept trying to stare me down and break me for answers or whatever.

Nothing is wrong, was what I told everyone. Everything is fine.

Nothing was okay. I was losing my grip on things, and I knew it. I wanted to end everything, just disconnect myself from my thoughts at least for a little while. I was coming home from work and just crying on the bathroom floor sometimes for no reason at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

I surprise-visited Owen one evening after work. His front door was unlocked (I'd have to talk to him about that), so I let myself in. He wasn't anywhere inside the house, even though his car was outside. I saw some movement from the small sliding door that led to the backyard. He was there, high up on his ladder, continuing his cabin that was actually coming along nicely.

"Owen!" I called, but he didn't turn.

I was much closer when I called him again, but there was still no response from him. I had to tilt my head towards him to see he was wearing some wireless headphones. Jeez. What if a dinosaur was right behind him? Or someone with a gun? He brushed his arm across his forehead, wiping away the sweat, but even with the movement he still didn't see me. I had to give a gentle kick to his ladder to grab his attention.

"What the—" He stopped himself as soon as he saw me. "Claire?"

"No, it's Lucille Ball," I said sarcastically.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"That's why it's a surprise visit."

"What a nice surprise it is." He climbed down the ladder. His entire face was reddish, glistening with sweat. His plaid shirt sleeves were rolled up all the way, revealing more sweat and dirt on both his arms. I couldn't believe that even like this, he was still handsome. I'd say even more so. A tall, well-built man practically drenched in sweat—what was there not to like?

He took off his tool belt and set it aside. But then he just looked me up and down for a few seconds.

"What?" I said, feeling exposed again.

"Let's go inside," he said.

We went inside, but if I knew anything about him, it was that he had more to say. He had that furrowed-brow look, his lips set in a straight line, as if he was both in deep thought and trying to look deep into your soul. And he managed to look deep into mine most of the time, which annoyed me and intrigued me at the same time. How did one get so good at reading other people?

Once we were inside, he said, "Claire, don't take offense to this, but… You look terrible."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh? How could I take offense to the loveliest of compliments?"

He pulled out a chair from his dining table and sat down. I cringed. He was dirty. Did he not care that his chair would be dirty now, too?

"You're going to dirty up your chair," I said.

"Stop," he countered. "Stop changing the subject." He sighed. "Claire, you look awful."

"So I've been told." That panicky feeling started rising in my throat. I felt like he was about to tell me everything he knew about me that I tried to keep secret. Hidden. My heart was hammering against my chest. I didn't know how he had this kind of effect on me.

"Look at you," he said. "Are you eating? Are you sleeping? You have to take care of yourself."

"I'm not dead, Owen," I snapped. "I'm just fine."

In that moment, I realized what I had just said. So did he. It was an extremely poor choice of words on my part, but it raised suspicion on his end. He got up from the chair and came over to me. I was too stunned to take a step back. Idiot. "That's not funny," he said seriously.

"Never said it was," I said.

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't."

"Come on. You even look like you've lost some weight."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not if you're starving yourself."

"Who said I'm—" I stopped myself under the guise of not arguing anymore, but come on. I wasn't starving myself, but I might as well have been. "This is not why I came here." I sighed, wanting to move past the conversation. I couldn't tell if Owen wanted to or not, though; aside from the concern, his face was hard to read. We both fell silent for a moment.

"Did you come to see me work on my cabin?" Owen said after a few moments. "Because I have a nice butt?" He smirked in that playful way he sometimes did.

I smiled. "I just thought I'd visit," I said. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Well, I suppose I can order some pizza," he said.

The night was mostly uneventful, but I was just happy to spend some time with him. I was able to take my mind off myself for a little while and just be distracted. We ate pizza and watched Netflix. We couldn't decide what to watch (we never liked each other's suggestions), so we settled on _The Office_. After we got tired of watching too many episodes, he told funny stories of his childhood while we played Uno. It was an interesting night, nonetheless, and when I realized the time, it was too late to head home. So I gave myself another excuse to be near him: I just asked if I could spend the night.

I had nothing but my purse with me. Owen didn't mind, of course (I'd have been worried if he did), and I took a shower shortly afterward. My favorite part was wearing one of his t-shirts as a nightgown. It smelled like him, distinct and wonderful. Like men's Old Spice body wash and an interesting wood smell.

It seemed like the second his head met the pillow, he was out. And, I mean, I understood that. He'd been in the sun for a while, I guessed, and possibly running other errands during the day. My entire body felt physically exhausted. My arm and leg muscles ached, and my eyes felt a hint of heaviness, but I couldn't fall asleep. I grew more and more frustrated as I attempted different positions: on my side, on my back, on my stomach, on my back with the pillow over my eyes—nothing worked. I listened to Owen's steady breathing and wondered how some people just had that ability to fall asleep so quickly. He was on my left-hand side, still in the same position he'd been in when he got in bed. Incredible.

I crossed my legs and uncrossed them. Got in a fetal position and then went back to lying flat with my arms extended at my sides. Eventually, the constant moving slowly roused Owen from his sleep. I had no idea how much time had passed since we'd gone to bed, but his voice was deeper and laced with sleep: "Claire?"

I did my best to mask my own voice, to make it seem like I'd also been sleeping. "Hmm?"

"Why are you moving?" he half-mumbled.

"Huh?" Again, acting like I'd just woke up.

"You're moving a lot."

"Sorry," I answered.

He went quiet afterward, and I thought he'd fallen asleep again. I thought he might have been sleep-talking, not that I knew if he had a history of doing that already. I mean, every now and then, someone said something seemingly silly while they were halfway between sleep and full consciousness. But then he turned to face me. His eyes were squinted, like it was a struggle to open them. He was looking right at me, and I thought he caught me pretending to have just woken up. My eyes were wide open—heavier now from exhaustion, but still open.

His hand found mine under the covers and tugged lightly. He was now lying on his back, signaling me to come closer. I moved over until my head was tucked under his neck, my hand resting on his chest. He was so warm. He didn't say anything else, and after a few minutes I tilted my head slightly only to see he was out like a light again. And it must've helped because I dozed off a little while after.

* * *

I was dreaming with him. I was back in the island with the volcano erupting. We were running, always running, for what seemed like forever. I knew I was dreaming because I knew what would happen next. But the Claire in my dreams didn't know this wasn't really happening; it was almost as if I got to watch a scene of myself play out, knowing things weren't going to turn out well, but unable to go in and change anything.

It was just the two of us. Sometimes the dream would play out exactly as everything happened. Sometimes certain details changed and one of us would be missing. This time, I was in the gyrosphere again, but Franklin wasn't there. It was just me and Owen. We rolled off the cliff, as it always went down in my dreams when I happened to find myself back there. I was silently pleading him to rescue us; in real life, he'd had both a gun and a knife, but here, he never reached for it. Dream-Owen didn't seem to be aware that he had tools that could save us.

We were completely submerged underwater in a matter of seconds. I started to panic, even though Owen didn't seem to have a sense of urgency. I was kicking the gyrosphere's door, but my movements were weak and drawn out in the water. I had no idea what Owen was doing beside me, but a tightness began to press down on my chest. I knew I didn't have time. When I looked to my left, his eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving.

I didn't know what to do. Try to save him? Try to save myself? I had no idea how I could possibly save him if I couldn't get myself out first. By the time I thought to reach into his pockets to search for any weapon, I realized I couldn't hold my breath anymore. So I inhaled the water around me.

I woke up in another infamous cold sweat, gasping loudly and nearly jolting out of bed. Owen only stirred a little, but otherwise, continued sleeping. Incredible how someone could sleep through that. I had to take a moment to compose myself. When I looked at the time on my phone, I realized I'd only been sleeping for about three hours. It was kind of an improvement, but just barely. Slowly, I edged out of bed and left the room. I needed to go outside and get some fresh air.

The crickets were alive and thriving in the night sky. I sat down on one of the cheap Walmart lawn chairs that was right by the door that led to the backyard. It overlooked Owen's cabin, and past that was a forested area, followed by mountains. I'd never stopped to think about how beautiful and peaceful the mountains were. I always preferred the cityside over a secluded place like this, but I could see why Owen lived here. It made me wonder if I could see myself living in a place like this. It wasn't exactly what I envisioned as my ideal place, but it wasn't bad either. We weren't too far away from civilization, so I could compromise.

In that exact same moment, the ground trembled unexpectedly. I froze. My immediate thought was an earthquake, but I knew that wasn't it. A few seconds later, the ground trembled again. I got up from the lawn chair, as if that somehow would help me hear better. The ground trembled once again, and behind me, I thought I saw something moving inside the house. I didn't know what to attend to first, but I figured Owen was awake, so I'd tell him about the weird noise.

I stepped back inside the house, but he wasn't in the living room area. I looked inside his room, but he wasn't in there either.

"What the hell?" I said to myself.

I looked all over his house, but he wasn't there. His car was parked outside when I checked through the window, but he was nowhere to be found. My palms were starting to get sweaty. Where the hell was he? And why was the ground still trembling? I made my way back to the backyard and followed the sound as best as I could. It was coming from behind the forest area. I made it up to the cabin when a rustling in the tall trees stopped me.

A brachiosaurus stepped out from behind the trees, and I took more than a couple of steps back, trying not to trip over any part of Owen's unfinished cabin. I momentarily forgot about him as I stared in awe at the beast before me. It wasn't like I'd never seen one before, but at two in the morning in someone else's backyard when I was _really_ sleep deprived wasn't exactly the ideal situation to stumble across one.

He nibbled on the trees, taking almost an entire bunch of leaves into his mouth. When I got mostly past the initial shock, I knew I needed to find Owen. There was no telling where this thing was headed next. I didn't want Owen to be crushed by a giant beast whose path seemed to include this small house and a very vulnerable far-from-finished cabin.

I sprinted back across the yard, but before I even made it inside the house, the cabin came crashing down. I was, once again, stopped in my tracks. I turned around, only to see a mini dust storm form around the area the brachiosaurus had just demolished. Owen was going to be so pissed about this.

As luck would have it, the door that led back inside the house was locked. I banged on it.

"Owen!" I called, but to no avail. "Owen, open up!"

The brachiosaurus was heading my way. Not that slowly, but surely. Every pounding step it took shook me to the core. It never occurred to me to go around the house, because that kind of stuff never did come to mind in situations like these. Rational thinking flew out the window pretty quickly. I kept banging on the door as a fuzzy feeling started overtaking me.

"Owen!" I screamed, the octaves in my voice going up until it was just a shrill. "Owen!"

And then I found myself back on the lawn chair, startled. My neck was resting on my left shoulder, and it ached the second I moved it. It was still dark outside, and Owen's cabin was still in one piece. I felt disoriented for a moment. Was that all really just a dream? It felt so real, so vivid. The dinosaur destroying everything in its path and coming for me—and it was all just a dream. I stretched my legs and my arms, both relieved I wasn't being chased by a dinosaur and just sick of having dreams like these what felt like every night.

I hadn't quite had a dream like _this_ one, but it seemed that I was reliving my days in the island—moments in particular—over and over. It was so draining to lie awake for what felt like forever, finally doze off, only to wake up from a nightmare. And what's worse was that anytime I did wake up from a nightmare, I'd really only been sleeping for a short period of time. When I went back inside the house and looked at the time on my phone, all this had happened within the span of an hour.

 _Fuck my life_ , I thought bitterly. I could never win, no matter what. And there was Owen, now facing the side of the bed I'd be in, snoozing away peacefully. If he was ever plagued by nightmares, he never showed it. He never said a word. But whenever I spent the night, he was never tossing or turning or mumbling in his sleep; he never woke up abruptly, panting or screaming. Maybe he just had an ability to push thoughts away when it came to sleep or control his dreams or something. Maybe he didn't go to bed every night thinking that the reason this entire chain of events happened was because of him. I don't think he carried that guilt with him. Lucky him if that was the case.

I envied his ability to put his head on the pillow and be asleep almost instantly. I crawled back into bed with him, and again, he only stirred, but didn't wake. I moved onto my right side, facing away from him. Closed my eyes and let some tears fall. In the morning, we'd wake up—him feeling refreshed and me feigning it as best as I could. He'd ask me if I slept well, and I'd probably say something like, _Yeah, you?_ just to shift the attention away from myself. We'd go on about our day, and he wouldn't know I drowned trying to save us after we fell off a cliff. He wouldn't know I saw a dinosaur in his backyard, one that crushed the cabin he was working hard on.

It was fine. Completely fine. As I brushed a tear away, I thought to myself that he wouldn't have to put up with me and my bullshit for much longer. This would be over soon enough.

* * *

Thankfully, I'd manage to sleep some for the rest of the night, although I'd certainly had better night sleeps. When Owen woke me up in the morning, I could barely open my eyes. They felt so heavy. He came around a few times to wake me, giving my shoulder a light shove to wake me up. I knew he was doing it, but I was so tired. I'd open my eyes for a few seconds and then doze right off again. At one point, he sat at the edge of the bed and ran his fingers lightly through my messy bangs and hair.

"Claire," he said softly, "wake up. You have to go to work."

I opened my eyes again, but I felt so incredibly exhausted. I knew I couldn't bring myself to go to work. Not like this. I forced myself to at least sit up and that was a struggle in and of itself.

"Did you sleep well?" Owen asked.

"Yeah," I lied, voice deep and groggy. "You?"

"Yeah," he said. Then paused. "Sure you slept alright?"

"Of course. Just a little tired right now." Which was the understatement of the year. I got up and took a shower, but since I didn't have any spare clothes, I had to wear the exact same thing I wore the day before. Yet another reason to not go to work, or at least my brain figured as much. I didn't tell Owen this, because I didn't want him to worry over nothing.

As I was preparing to leave, I noticed him watching. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him sending glances my way, as though he was worried I'd do something out of the ordinary. I pretended not to notice and just went about my business.

He walked me out the door and to my car. Before I got in, he pulled me to him and kissed me. We hadn't quite done this for what seemed like a while, and I realized it was long overdue. He caught me by surprise, but I leaned into the kiss and put my arms around his neck. When he pulled away, he said, "We should do something this weekend."

I didn't want that kiss to end. "Like what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, like…" He shrugged again, his mind thinking of things that normal couples did over the weekend. Couples hadn't come back from an island where death lurked in every single corner. "Like go to the park, or bike down a trail. I don't know. Why don't you just print an itinerary?"

I mock-smiled at him. "Ha, ha. Very funny. Why don't you think about it and let me know?"

"I suppose," he said. "Now, go. You'll be late for work."

I went straight home. The day went by so slowly, I almost wished I'd gone to work instead.

* * *

I kept thinking about Owen's comment about printing an itinerary for us. It was one of the things he didn't like about me when we went on our first ever date. I was an organized person back then, prided myself in things like that. I liked to plan out everything that would get done for the night, and he was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of person. He just rolled with things as they happened. But as I thought about us doing something, or going somewhere in the weekend, I didn't care. I didn't care to have anything planned. I didn't care about what it was we would do. It would happen, and that would be it.

I didn't have a desire to keep anything organized anymore. My own home backed me up on this, too. I had plates in the sink that had been sitting there for more than a few days already. In my room were tossed clothing I couldn't be bothered to hang. When I got home from work, I'd take my clothes and throw them on the floor, or the bed, or whatever was close enough. The old me would not have had a speck of dust hit the floor unless I knew about it. The old me would have had this place tidied up as if it needed to be presentable for someone at all times.

I didn't want to be home. It felt so empty and so lonely here. No one really visited me here unless they needed to come for a specific reason. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't actually even _have_ friends. No drinking buddies, no support group, no book club friends, at least. Nothing. It was just me here, and my life at work. And now Owen, but nothing with him was exactly _official-_ official yet.

 _What are you doing, Claire?_ I asked myself. _Why don't you just end things now? Why wait any longer?_

But I mean, all things took time to cook to perfection, so to speak. Even taking your own damn life, especially when all the little details mattered.

 **A/N: Sorry if this chapter (or this whole fic, tbh) sucks. I don't really know why I'm still writing, lol oh well**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

When Saturday came around, I started feeling nervous, as though I was going on a first date with someone I really liked. In many ways, I felt like an actual first date. The very first time I'd gone out with Owen, things didn't end well. He wasn't dressed appropriately, and I had printed a schedule for the night. I didn't like what he'd worn, and he didn't like that I'd tried to control the evening. We never had a second date after that, though we occasionally saw each other at the park.

It all felt so long ago, almost as if it had never happened, in a way. Twice already, the two of us had been thrown together in a situation where either one of us could have been killed in the blink of an eye. Today, we were going out and doing something normal. No dinosaurs, no work, no being together because we had to—just enjoying the day because we _wanted_ to.

I was up early (as if I'd slept much, though I was feeling more awake than usual) that day. I found myself debating how to fix myself up for the day. After I took a shower, I looked over my makeup items. I didn't have all that much. Not that I needed to even have any at all, but I didn't want to look like I didn't put any effort in. I settled for some light foundation, powder, and a bit of lipstick. I tied my hair up, changing the height of it every few seconds. It either looked too high, and it looked tacky if it was too low, and I just couldn't get it right.

I was stressing too much over nothing. Owen would probably show up in the most casual of clothing, making me look overdressed for the situation. I changed clothes more than a handful of times. I didn't want to look soccer-mom-sporty, but I didn't want to look uncomfortably casual. I ended up settling for a dark pair of workout leggings and a gray t-shirt. I was about to change that when I heard a knock at the door. I stepped over the clothes tossed all over my floor and answered the door. It was, of course, Owen.

Unsurprisingly enough, he was in a pair of graphite-colored cargo shorts, and a heather-gray shirt. We were half-matching, which made me inexplicably happy.

"Ready?" he asked.

"One sec," I said. I had to grab a small purse with the stuff I needed, and then we were out the door.

Neither one of us had ever decided on what we would do today. I had no idea what we could do, and I never agreed to his suggestions. I wasn't opposed to them; I just never actually said yes. All he ended up saying was, _I'll pick you up at this time, and we'll wing it_. I didn't argue. Though it wasn't in my nature to "wing" things and go about most activities without a plan, I didn't give a shit anymore. You couldn't control everything. I had to learn that the hard way. Sometimes, you'd plan things, and things still went south.

"So," Owen said once we were in his car, "I was thinking breakfast."

"Okay," I said. "Do you have a plan for today?"

"Nope," he said. He pulled out of the driveway and started taking a familiar route. "We never did decide on what we'd do." He looked over at me and gave me a lopsided grin. "Plus, I never plan things."

It was weird to be doing this. It felt like it'd been so long since I went out with someone— _anyone_ —and did something normal. What was normal anymore? If it didn't have to do with work, or getting chased down, hunted, or had a gun practically shoved in my face, I wasn't used to it anymore. There were many things Owen and I could've done together that day. We could've gone to the movies, gone to a museum, or even driven to Disneyland. It would have felt at least somewhat normal. Instead, we opted for breakfast and trying to decide what to do after that.

We stopped at a local diner that I'd been to a few times before. The menu was overwhelming, but I picked something small: scrambled eggs with toast, bacon, and sausages. I wasn't doing the best job feeding myself lately, but even then, my appetite was in and out most of the times. Sometimes I felt hungry; other times, not so much. Today, I wasn't feeling very hungry—mostly just anxious about the rest of the day. (Not having a plan, or even an idea was starting to drive me a little crazy, even though I was trying to push past that.) Owen, on the other hand, was apparently hungry since he got a huge breakfast sandwich and a side of pancakes and toast.

After we placed our order waited for our food, I decided to start a conversation. Because who didn't want to start a Saturday morning with _this_ of everything there was to talk about. "Owen," I started, knowing I should have kept my mouth shut before I said something I couldn't take back, "do you ever wonder what things would've been like if we'd never been on the island?"

He just glared at me for a few moments. Underneath the table, I was fiddling with my thumbs. Now that I couldn't take back anything I said, I just had to deal with the way this conversation was going on. And, surely, he was on to me.

"I can't say that it's necessarily crossed my mind," he said. "I mean… I _have_ wondered what would have happened if things went differently than they did, but…" He paused, studied my face as though he was trying to read me. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering… if it's crossed your mind…" Yeah. Great cover up, Claire. I'm sure he has no doubts now.

"Claire, you're really starting to worry me," he said. I guess I expected there to be some sort of sly smile from him, something to lighten up the mood, but there was none. He genuinely looked concerned, and I felt bad for even bringing it up. I had no idea why I did. We were trying to enjoy a weekend together, and here I was bringing this situation up.

"Forget it," I said. "I don't know why I brought it up. I shouldn't even be thinking about that right now. Sorry. Just… forget I mentioned it."

He didn't look convinced. I thought maybe he'd shrug it off and change the subject, but he didn't. He kept looking at me, only this time his face had slightly softened, and now he looked at me like he pitied me or something. "You shouldn't be thinking about that at all."

Right. Of course. His life, my life, Franklin's and Zia's lives were all in danger because of me. Dinosaurs died on the island because of me, and they were let loose in California also because of me. But, no, I shouldn't be thinking about it all, _ever_. Right, sure.

"I know you think everything that happened was your fault," he said. "But it wasn't. You couldn't possibly know what was going to happen, that Mills was going to use you and lie to you." He was right; I didn't know. I should have known, though. I should've known that it was too good to be true. That a crazy-rich man like him wouldn't care to save any dinosaurs. I was so stupid to think otherwise, to have blind faith in him like I did.

"I don't know why I brought it up," I said. "Just forget it I did."

"I know why you did," he said. My heart skipped a beat too many. Did he know something I didn't? Was someone telling him something? Not that I mentioned anything to anyone, but sometimes, things got around anyway. "You need to talk about it. You don't think I've noticed a change in you?"

What change? Was I making something painfully obvious? I could feel the palm of my hands start to sweat. As if every secret I ever held was about to be told right to my face that exact moment.

"You're losing weight, you look tired all the time, you're telling me you have nightmares, you're not sleeping. I want to help you, Claire. But you have to let me help you."

For a moment, I considered telling him. I not only wanted to kill myself, but now it was set in stone. I didn't know _how_ I was going to do it, or even _when_ , but it was going to happen. I almost opened my mouth to say this. But I thought against it and said, "Owen, if I needed anything, I would've come to you by now. Wouldn't I?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't know," he said. "Would you?"

I couldn't blame his uncertainty. The fact of the matter was that I _wasn't_ coming to him at all with what I was really feeling. Still, I pretended like everything on my end was just fine. "You know I would." I was surprised at how second-nature this lying thing was starting to feel. I didn't think I'd ever lied so much in such a small timeframe. I felt like I didn't know who I was anymore, as pathetic as that sounded. "Let's talk about something else. This is too depressing for a Saturday morning."

I saw a glint of disappointment in his face. I felt terrible bringing this up. I really didn't even know why I did, but I could tell he was trying to suppress the frustration of not getting through to me. Not that there was much to get through to anyway. Still, I mentally scolded myself for bringing that up. I _always_ knew what to say to lighten up the mood.

After breakfast, we still didn't know what to do afterward. In the car, we talked it over and just decided to head downtown and just walk. That kind of stuff was not usually my idea of hanging around the weekend. I was used to being busy and having something to do, so my days off were mainly spent at home, relaxing. That was probably one of the biggest reasons I didn't have very many friends to hang out with. But being with Owen just made even the simplest activities nice. I would probably never walk around a downtown area for the sake of walking and killing time, but being with him made it better.

As we were leaving and making our way back to our car, he stopped a random guy walking by and asked him if he could take our picture. I was surprised, to say the least. Owen was a lot more outgoing and daring than me, but he showed a side of himself that I very rarely saw: this subtle, almost-sappy, lovey-dovey side of him that wanted a picture of _us_ , probably just to keep it on his phone and remember this moment. Our first time hanging out together, willingly, doing something completely normal.

When the guy took our picture and handed the phone back to him, I asked to look at it. It was a nice picture, nicer than I expected. If you didn't know any better, you'd even say I looked _happy_ in it. My arms were looped around his left arm, and I was leaning my head into his shoulder, as if hanging on for dear life. In the background were storefronts of expensive sunglasses and jewelry stores.

"Didn't peg you as the picture-taking type," I said to him as we walked away.

"Well, considering you and I have absolutely no pictures together at all, I figured today was a good day to start."

He was right. In years we've known each other, we had nothing. We'd been forced into crazy situations twice before in which we had to adapt, but outside of that, we were nonexistent. It was nice to finally have something we could hold on to. As we made our way back to the car, my mind was still reeling from our time together. All we'd done so far was have breakfast and walk around the downtown area for a few hours. It felt like a first date, right down to the butterflies in my stomach.

I leaned my head against the window and watched the road drift by as he drove. It seemed like an endless stretch. I didn't know what we were doing next or where we were going. I didn't ask. I just didn't really want the day to end. It was unfortunate that, whether you liked it or not, everything had to come to an end.

* * *

The rest of our afternoon and evening was spent at my house. We ordered pizza, played a few board games (not that I owned many, so our selection was _very_ limited), watched Netflix, and talked. I realized that, despite how long we'd already known each other, there was still a lot I didn't know about him. I didn't know much about his past, his hobbies, or what he usually did when he wasn't around me or getting chased by dinosaurs, really. In fact, I realized I didn't know where we stood either. It seemed pretty stupid to ask, but I needed to know.

I didn't really know how to word it, so I just said, "What's up with us?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… _us_. What—" Why was it so hard for me to just form words and say things sometimes? I didn't know why I was struggling to say what I wanted to say. I stopped for a moment and took a breath. "Look, we've both come clean about how we feel towards each other. We've…" Words, Claire. They're just words. "When we came back—I mean, after we left Maisie in Utah and came back—we talked that night. We said we loved each other…"

"I know."

"I guess I just wanted to know… where we stood. I mean… we're spending time in each other's house a lot. And today we did a normal thing. For the first time in forever," I said. "I just want to know if we're a thing. Are we… you know, official?"

"And this whole time I've been thinking we're friends with benefits." He smirked teasingly, sarcastically.

"Owen."

"Come on, Claire. We've said the 'L' word. How much more official can it get?"

"Well, we never addressed _that_."

I needed to know for sure, for myself. Maybe I needed to hear him say it so I didn't have any doubts. We'd crashed in each other's place a lot, slept in each other's beds, and he even visited me at work sometimes to bring me lunch. I knew Zia and Franklin would whisper about us at their desks like little schoolgirls gossiping. In reality, it couldn't get _any_ more official, not to a normal couple. But for us, things were different. We'd been through things no one had been through before. We'd kissed once three years ago when the park was being run down, and we weren't official then. We'd been through too much together, only to separate and go about our lives like we hadn't been at death's doorstep. I needed to know for sure, needed to know this wasn't something we'd do and then go about our lives like we hadn't slept in each other's beds and confessed that we loved each other. I couldn't just assume.

Owen only smiled at me. "Well, now that all this confusion is cleared up—did I ever tell you about the time I got suspended at school for roundhouse kicking this one kid?"

* * *

A week later, Owen and I were in talks about possibly moving in together. The whole being alone thing was getting old, and I didn't want to be by myself anymore. Talking to him every day was always the highlight of my day, especially when things at work got stressful. My sister started trying to contact me again, and I wondered why I hadn't just blocked her. I wasn't going to stand around and be insulted by her. I didn't know why she thought that sending like ten text messages and calls in a row would warrant an answer from me.

I wasn't exactly doing all that better, either. Although being with Owen and talking to him made me happy, in the back of my mind, the thought of what could have been and what almost was, lingered. I was thinking of ways of moving things along. I didn't know yet if I wanted it to be painless or painful. Or if I wanted something in between. It might have seemed redundant to even think about moving in with Owen, if in the end I was going to off myself anyway, but I didn't want him to know anything was going on.

I went to work one morning and observed everyone from my office. What would be different after I wasn't there anymore? Who would be sitting here if not me? As I watched Franklin and Zia and the other employees and volunteers, I wondered if I would be missed. Probably not. There would always be someone else to fill in another's shoes. I would be a memory soon, a page in the history book. If not me, someone else would be sitting here. The show must always go on.

I should have been making phone calls and answering emails, but instead I took a blank piece of paper and started writing. _Dear Owen_. I stopped when there was a knock on my door.

" _Buenos dias,_ boss lady," Zia said as she popped her head in.

"Morning," I answered. I tried to cover the piece of paper, although I hadn't written anything alarming just yet.

"Going for a coffee run. Want something?"

"No, thank you, Zia."

She looked surprised. "You don't want coffee? Sure?"

"I'm good. Thank you."

She shrugged. "Okay then. If you change your mind, just let me know."

I nodded. I waited until I saw her get into the elevator and continued my note. I wouldn't write the whole thing here, of course. I'd finish at home, where I knew no one would walk in on me. I looked at the two words written with my black gel-ink pen. _Dear Owen_. I stopped for a moment, thinking my words carefully. _I am so sorry. By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. Please don't bother to come look for me, since I might end up in the evening news soon._ Eventually, Zia came back, and she had an iced coffee for me.

"I know you said you didn't want any, but just in case." She placed the coffee on my desk.

I was trying to shield my note again, now that I had written even more. She must've noticed, but she didn't say anything if she was suspicious. "Thank you," I said. Tears sprung to my eyes, and I tried my best to keep them at bay. I didn't know if I was emotional from the note I was writing, or if the nice gesture just got to me (at the wrong time, I might add). But I meant that thank you. Zia just looked at me like I was crazy or something, but didn't push it. I was thankful for it. I didn't want to start bawling for no reason.

"You're welcome."

I waited till she was back at her desk to continue writing. But I felt like I was being watched or something. Like I was exposed. So I hid the note under a short stack of papers I had in the corner of my desk and waited until I was back home that night to finish it.

Later that evening, while I was on the phone with Owen, I was looking for my note. It was in my purse, which was tossed somewhere in my room. Ironic, that speaking to him helped me finish writing it out. I felt guilty, speaking to him about the stuff we planned to do (from recreational to downright living together), while on the other hand I was doing _this_. Not that it stopped me; I still went on.

 _Dear Owen,_

 _I am so sorry. By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. Please don't bother to come look for me, since I might end up in the evening news soon anyway. I just can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm losing control of myself. I know you've said that things aren't my fault, but they are. I carry this burden every damn day, knowing you could've been killed on that island. This burden is too much to carry, too much for me to bear. I have nightmares all the time about what could've been, and I can't sleep, knowing you could have died because of me._

 _Please know this isn't your fault at all. I don't blame you and never have. I should've known things were too good to be true when Mills approached me. I'm glad things brought us together, but I can't live knowing I could've gotten you killed. I feel like a terrible person. You deserve better than me, and I hope you can find it._

 _I've never loved anyone the way I've loved you. You are an amazing person, and you deserve someone who will treat you the way you should be treated. I'm tired of this burden, of living. Please don't blame yourself for anything. Grieve if you must, find peace, and move on._

 _I love you so much more than I can express. And I am so, so sorry. I hope you can understand._

 _Claire_

 **A/N: Sorry, ya'll, life has gotten in the way of things. I'm not feeling too inspired lately to keep writing this fic. I don't want to abandon it, but I'm not inspired, and the lack of most feedback isn't helping me want to continue writing anyway, so idk. We'll see.**


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